


A Tale Untold

by kalimero



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, Implied Relationships, M/M, POV Outsider, everything is implied, nothing is real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-12 00:33:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7913476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalimero/pseuds/kalimero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Outsider POV.</p><p>In a tavern, years later. Raptured listeners learn how the story of Captain Flint and Long John Silver began. And we learn how it ended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tale Untold

**Author's Note:**

> Is this really the first outsider POV fic in this fandom?! Couldn't find anything in the tag. Honestly... I'm a sucker for this genre :D
> 
> You can listen to a rough version of the featured song here: http://tuotilo.tumblr.com/post/149702526601/a-tale-untold-a-multimedia-black-sails-fanfic
> 
> ETA: Now with a sequel (different POV): [A Life Unlived](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7966744)
> 
> ETA #2: Both this and the sequel were made non-canon compliant by S4. They can now be read as an alternate (a bit grimmer) attempt to line up the show with Treasure Island.

A balmy wind caressed the palms strewn around the sandy shore. Salt sprinkled the air, carried over from the foam of the sea. The orange glow of the horizon touched the land no more.

It was calm on this late summer night in 1753. Except –

“Timme rollickin’ randy dandy-oh!”

Each word was punctuated by stomping feet. What followed was roaring laughter and the clinking of mugs, splashing beer all over the wooden tables and floors. The terribly tone-deaf but joyous singing reverberated through the walls of the little tavern in the port of Savannah. Outside, the drunkards stumbling past scarcely took notice before keeling over into the water. Only some birds bristled at the noise that they were still not quite used to.

“Fetch me a bottle of rum, nay, ten!” shouted a stout man who went by the name of Captain Delawney. His crew was in a good mood. The merchants had made a few bargains in the last days and were finally allowed to spend some of the coin after it had all been accounted for. Their captain was already well imbibed, scratching his patchy auburn stubble with one hand and cradling a wench on his lap with the other. Booze and women, what more could a man’s heart desire? Not much, this band of brothers surmised in the alcohol-addled state of their brains.

For the most part of the evening, they had played card games and listened to the songs one of the prostitutes had intoned in a corner, accompanied by the soft plucking of a lute and a violin. The violinist had since been beaten up for his lack of skill and the poor sod now nursed his injuries by drinking more than anyone else, leaving his creaking fiddle for the rats to nibble at. Bored by the faintly forlorn tunes about longing and lassies left behind at home, the crew of _The Dowager_ – as their ship was called – had forced the young woman into cheerful shanties that they knew from work and heartily joined to sing. Now that the latest had ended, she was grateful for the respite. It was her that the captain had dragged onto his lap. Her name was Elfriede.

“Effi, my dear, where’re you going?”

She disentangled herself from his grasp with a sweet smile.

“Why, to fetch you some rum!”

“Ah, let others.”

His greedy fingers slid over her corset and towards her skirt but it was just her luck that a brawl amongst his men attracted his attention in that very moment, allowing her to slip away. She preferred the nights where the music was enough to earn her keep.

Taking a deep breath, she quickly went to heave another case of rum inside, enjoying the cooling night breeze for a fleeting second. On her way back in, she caught her reflection in broken shards of glass where someone had dropped a few bottles. There were loosened black strands of hair falling into her face, brushing against her dark eyes, the blush on her cheek smeared with sweat, but she refused to look further. Good business for the tavern meant good business for her. No use in thinking about this and that. What might have been. What was.

“There you are!” the captain cheered when she came back bearing drinks, her place at this side already taken by one of the other girls. She refrained from playfully chastising him; they both knew that she had eluded his advances on purpose and while the twinkle in his eye told her that he harboured no ill will over it, she wasn’t going to test the boundaries of his magnanimity.

“Cheers,” she smiled in return, handing out the bottles to those closest to her. The barmaid gave her a little wink. They always helped each other out on evenings such as this.

Effi settled next to her lutenist, Gary, who looked slightly sheepish and sipped on a glass of wine, as was his default. Maybe in another life, if he had been born earlier when the lute was still in fashion, he would have had a proper career. Maybe. Probably not. At least he was content with his lot in life. Somewhat. His golden, curly hair and freckles underneath his reddish tan gave him a boyish appearance. The Rioja he was drinking stained his lips. Carefully, he leaned over and half-whispered:

“We haven’t done _The Tale of_ _Captain Flint_ yet.”

“I know,” she whispered back. They usually played it when there was a new crew in town. Often, it gathered the most applause and coins. But it was one of the slower songs and Effi felt like the mood had to be right. She was not sure that it was, just now.

Unfortunately, someone had overheard their conversation and barked, curious:

“Flint? What do you know ‘bout him?”

It had been decades since the famous incident. Decades, since the most feared pirate to ever roam the Caribbean had disappeared, and all of his crew with him. But it still caught the imagination of people.

And so it was that the chatter quickly rose. Some of the regulars rolled their eyes for they had heard the story many times before, others joined the chorus and demanded a performance of _The Tale of the Monstrous Captain Flint and his Trusted Quartermaster Long John Silver_. There were a few who didn’t react at all, slumping against walls and staring into their bottles with the glassy look of deeply unhappy and deeply drunk fellows.

Effi took a swig of Gary’s wine to moisten her throat, already nodding and making gestures to calm the demands.

“Alright, alright!”

Captain Delawney had turned in his chair but was still halfway engaged in an argument about textile prices. Even those who had loudly called for the song were concerned with other matters on the side. She would have to earn their attention.

Clapping into her hands, she gave Gary a sign to start playing some notes. This silenced the room a little bit. At the same time, she put on a greatly exaggerated accent for the entrance narration and spoke up, careful to deepen her voice:

“Pray tell us the tale, ye cry,

Of Captain Flint and his crew –

I will, me lads, I will.

But beware: ‘tis no story

For the feebleminded!

So grab yer pints and bottles of rum

And listen to the most curious truth

About this scoundrel!”

Her hands whirled through the air with flourish, underlining her words. Some excited claps erupted from the crowd, accompanied by a few hollers. Oh yes, this was going to be good. The other conversations were starting to fade into the background.

Effi sometimes wondered what Madam Idelle would have said to all of this. A few years ago the young woman had ended her life on the street in Madam Idelle’s brothel and it was there that she had learned the truth about the fateful events surrounding Captain Flint and the buried treasure. It had been a night like any other, except it had been raining and the old lady, who had taken a liking to her, had been drinking.

Surely, Effi mused, she would have been amused by what was about to follow. It may not have been the full truth but a good story nonetheless.

Gary began to play his subdued picking pattern and waited for Effi to join him. She styled her face into a mask of suspense and then, lowly, intoned the first verse, slowly rising:

_For his father was a demon_

_And his mother was the sea_

_His wife a witch, his death a curse_

_That lives on to this day_

_Oh how did we come to lament_

_This fiend who haunts us so_

_All hail the monstrous Captain Flint_

_All hail the monstrous Captain Flint_

The tavern had fallen silent now, spell-bound by what they already knew of the tale or were hoping to discover.

After a torturous, dramatic pause, Effi continued.

_And in the night he whispers_

_To the sailors everywhere_

_Of Spanish gold that shone so bright_

_It drove him to despair_

_In madness he killed all his crew_

_In madness he survived_

_All hail the monstrous Captain Flint_

_All hail the monstrous Captain Flint_

This time, some sang the last lines with her, raising their mugs in mock adoration. The humour was clearly not lost on them, even though a few of the men looked spooked despite themselves. She didn’t blame them.

Before she had met Madam Idelle, she had never believed any of the rumours. Ghost stories to frighten little children and the superstitious, she had thought. She still didn’t believe in ghosts. But she believed that Captain Flint had been a tyrant, that he had indeed killed his crew, even if not all of them, and that he had been driven to this by his hunt for the gold of the _Urca de Lima_.

“He was a maniac,” Idelle had said matter-of-factly, taking a stiff gulp from an expensive Spanish brandy as if it were nothing. The stormy rain front had pattered against the window and candle wax had dripped through wide cracks in the table. “God knows what Billy ever saw in him.”

Effi had only listened and pushed for no information. Sometimes, she regretted it. She would never know what had become of this Billy.

Now, however, it was time for the rousing refrain.

_Hey-ho, hey, we call to thee_

_May others be humbled by your fate_

_For those who strive to rule us all_

_Will never live to tell the tale_

She repeated it. Others joined in, enthusiastically sloshing their beverages. Everyone loved a good moral of a story. And it was a bit cheeky, admittedly, since it hadn’t been too long since Nassau had been retaken by the British. The loss of the pirate republic still stung, even though it had hardly been heaven, from what could be gathered aside from nostalgia. Freedom may have been impossible to achieve because humans were too flawed to hold onto it but the desire for it was indomitable. Effi felt it coursing through her veins every time she sang the chorus with a group of strangers, not knowing what it meant, only that it meant something.

“He always talked about freedom,” Idelle had said. “But really, he just wanted it for himself, not for anyone else. Couldn’t stand the guy, honestly. He and that Guthrie bitch plotted together to form some sort of haven for outcasts, I don’t know, it was crazy talk. In the end it was all about the money anyway. It’s never about ideals.”

_So who defeated evil?_

_Who avenged the dead?_

_Who took the crown and turned it down_

_And settled every debt?_

_‘Twas Long John Silver with his queen_

_That seized the opportunity_

_All hail the man who would be king_

_All hail the man who would be king_

Now they were getting to the interesting part. The battle for Nassau’s soul, in a way. It had been tragic, according to Idelle, and a shadow had crept into her eyes before she had shaken her head.

“Silver had no idea. We made him the face of the resistance and he had no idea. We _made_ him and when he learned about it, he didn’t want it. Didn’t care for the notoriety. Funny, that, because he had a talent for it.”

Effi had clung to her every word, occasionally coughing up some of the brandy burning her throat. Thunder had rolled in the distance.

“We were doomed to fail. The Spanish came for the gold. And then what? What was it even good for? We couldn’t spend it and there was nothing to spend it on, not in Nassau. Max and I, we got out with some of it. Flint buried his chest. Became desperate. Killed those who helped him. Silver… he didn’t know. I think Flint didn’t want him to.”

The Madam had gotten up to get another bottle. Though the flame of the candle had wavered and dimmed, they had been illuminated by pale blue flashes of lightning.

“They liked each other,” she had said, sounding incredulous still after all these years. “They trusted each other. You could see it. It was strange.”

“So they were friends?” Effi had prompted, speaking up for the first time.

“More than friends, if you ask me.”

When it had become clear that the girl had had no idea what that meant, Idelle had given her a blank stare and added:

“They fucked.”

She had paused and then shrugged.

“No one cares that much about someone they aren’t fucking or wishing to fuck.”

_He was his quartermaster_

_He was his trusted friend_

_But when he saw the massacre_

_He turned on Captain Flint_

_He swayed all those who had escaped_

_To sentence him to die_

_All hail the man who would be king_

_All hail the man who would be king_

By now, the whole tavern was chanting a confused mixture of “the monstrous Captain Flint” and “the man who would be king”. They heartily carried over into the refrain. Effi surveyed the room from the corner of her eye, noticing a crestfallen figure near the door, shaking quietly. She knew him. He was one of the regulars. Dazed as he seemed, it was only during this ballad that he somewhat emerged from his stupor. Sometimes, she wondered about him. Maybe he was one of those who had escaped. Maybe he knew someone who had been part of the crew. Maybe he had escaped _something_. Everyone here related to the tale of Captain Flint and Long John Silver in some way. That was what made it so popular. That and the hidden treasure, of course. There was always that.

“Some of the crew survived, then?” Effi had asked, growing bolder the more she had drunk. None of them had ever been seen again, gone underground presumably.

“Not everyone died. Not on that day. But they found out and brought him to justice.”

“And Long John Silver…?”

Idelle had eyed her in a way that had told her the conversation was soon going to be over. The old woman had been tired and the candle had finally burned down, leaving them in shadows and twilight and thunderbolts, with the drumming of the rain receding into the distance.

“He carried out the sentence.”

She had leaned back, emptying the brandy for good, finishing with:

“He tied him up and threw him overboard. Wanted to be the one to do it. Make sure.”

_And so it was decided_

_Flint rejoined the sea_

_He drowned but if you strain your eyes_

_You catch him fleetingly_

_Alas, the king but vanished all_

_And we know not where to_

_All hail the man who was the crew_

_All hail the man who was the crew_

Scarcely had the last notes been played, when cheers and applause suffused the boisterous bawling that kept on repeating the last line until it was well out of tune and rhythm.

Had it been greed? No one had been able to retrieve the gold. Had it been grief, betrayal, loyalty? Madam Idelle had said no more. Effi had gotten the distinct feeling that the woman had known what had become of Long John Silver but chosen not to share that information.

“A fine tune,” Captain Delawney acknowledged, clapping diligently, sounding almost sober. Unlike others, he had grown quite serious. No doubt, it had struck him as a cautionary tale.

“But where’s the fucking gold?” someone shouted. Laughter rang out.

“You wouldn’t find it if it pissed you in the face!”

More laughter. The present crew was a merry bunch.

“Fool!” the captain threw in, good-humoured but not quite joking. “Did ye not listen? We’d do well not to chase after such things.”

There was some more back and forth, stopping just short of a scuffle, and then everyone resumed their drinking and whoring, with some of them humming the melody still. Quite a few pieces of eight landed in Effi’s lap and on the table, to be divided between her and Gary. Playfully, Captain Delawney flipped some over and she caught them with ease and a grateful smile.

Gathering everything in a pouch, she stood to stash the earnings away when her gaze fell on the man near the door once more. He had sunk back into his apathy, looking for all the world as if he was barely hanging onto life. She wasn’t worried so much as curious. Drunkards like him were part of the stock inventory. But then, not quite.

She was curious about the way his eyes twitched whenever she sang that Flint had killed his crew. She was curious about the way he pursed his lips at the first mention of Long John Silver, as if in great pain. She was curious about the way he winced when she came to the part where Long John Silver had turned on Captain Flint.

Most of all, she was curious about the way he ever so slightly shook his head throughout, as if to say: _No, no, no, that’s not how it was_.

The man was old, grey at the temples, unkempt. Life was etched into the lines of his face, though no wisdom. His hair had the colour of rust, his skin the marks of dried blood. The coat he was wearing might have been great once. Now it was tattered.

He clung to a bottle of rum. The look in his watery eyes reached into the distance, the past maybe, where there was something to see and regret.

This man wasn’t of the jolly sort. He was of no sort. He was not deep in thought, he was absent thereof. There was no recognition, no spark, no sign, only the shaking when she sang that tale, and now even that had ended once again.

Effi would have liked to speak with him. What was there to fear? He was just one of the many lost souls wandering the Earth, soon to be forgotten. What story there was, would be taken to the grave. But, she had to admit that she was afraid of him, against all reason. There was something in his silence, a darkness that was waiting to strike. What she didn’t know was that she was mistaken. What she was seeing was the remnant of a broken spirit, the mirror of something that was no more.

“Care for a dance?” a young lad cut through her thoughts, grabbing her at the waist instead of waiting for an answer and twirling her around. Someone had picked up the fiddle, playing a lively Irish folk song. Startled, she barely managed to hand the pouch over to Gary before being swept away. Quickly, most of the men moved chairs and tables out of the way and joined in with the other girls. Soon, almost everyone in the tavern was on their feet, dancing or clapping or stomping. Despite enjoying herself, Effi sighed inwardly. This was going to be a long night.

In between changing dance partners, she caught glimpses of the old man near the door and saw that he was unmoved by the events, just like the unconscious lying in the corners.

The barmaid made her way over there to clean up some of the tables and offer refreshments. Effi heard her ask:

“McGraw, want some more?”

She couldn’t see them but maybe she didn’t need to.

For no reply came forth.


End file.
